


Thank God for Drums

by Liebisadick



Category: Markiplier (Youtuber), jacksepticeye (YouTuber)
Genre: Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Music AU, drummer jack, musician au, violinist mark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 11:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5246258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liebisadick/pseuds/Liebisadick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Staring dumbfounded, he almost asked how he’d see him again but looking at his card he realized Mark had written in large numbers his phone number and in small font the words ‘Call me, we’d make beautiful music together,’ was written. If his blush was somewhat concealed before, he knew it wasn’t anymore as he whined softly and covered his face with his hands. “Thank fucking god for the drums!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thank God for Drums

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write some fluff before I spam this account with angst fics. Have fun.

It was fitting that Jack played the drums. 

They were loud, just like his mouth was. They never seemed to fail to catch someone’s attention with a loud bang, just as Jack never failed to catch someone’s attention with a loud shout. Or how they were this sort of off green that inspired the man to dye his own hair a green that was somehow unbearably neon that no eye could pull away from the bright colors. He even didn’t mind the comments from friends and family that it was just “too green, Jacky,” how it reminded them of some sort of toxic slime, like septic waste. Because out of everyone, Jack would be the one to take the insult as a compliment, to find inspiration in it as he dragged a thick green sharpie across the front of his drumset and wrote the word septic in shaky and uneven letters. 

It was very fitting Jack played the drums. It was especially fitting that he was a drum teacher. His love for the drums as well as his affinity to attract loud and boisterous people to him never seemed to fail wherever he went, kids and young teens flocking to his side, most recognizing him from his loud and energetic videos he posted of himself playing on YouTube. And he never turned one of them down, not even when he was dead tired and their parents apologized profusely that they had no money to pay for lessons, how they couldn’t even get drums for their children. He’d just smile, he’d nod and told them to meet him at his parents music store, Boss’s music shop, where he’d be waiting each time with a pair of drumsticks in hand and a smile on his face as they walked in. Free of charge was hit motto, if you wanted to learn you were welcome to it, every student a new opportunity to make a friend and he loved it. He loved his life, the people he had come to know, the students he had come to befriend. 

So that’s why he wondered why he was standing on the cold street on a chilly fall day, hat pulled over his ears and hoodie zipped up all the way as he clung tightly to the flyers in his arms. He had come to America with hopes of more, more opportunities, maybe even a gig to play a professional one. But for now he just really needed cash, desperately. He needed to get people to do lessons again, make money for this months rent or else he was majorily fucked in the ass. 

Sneezing, he wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve, pressing a flyer advertising for lessons on a lamp pole, trying to tape it though through trembling fingers it flew out of his grasp, carried away by the wind. “Oi! Get back here goddammit!” he chased after it, the wind blowing it barely out of reach as his fingers barely grazed it. His gaze was everywhere but forward, eyes upwards towards the sky as he tried to jump to grab it, only to land against something small and solid and falling back upon his ass. 

“Fuck!” he swore loudly, gritting his teeth in pain as he landed hard upon his tailbone, eyes scrunched closed tightly as he rubbed at his aching butt. “What did I hit, a fucking tree?” 

A soft chuckle made his eyes shoot open, looking up at the man standing above him with a smirk planted across his face. “I’m flattered but even with pecs like these it’s not that hard.” 

A flush spread across Jack’s face, still planted on the ground as he stared up at the man, his heart pounding heavily in his chest. The man was absolutely gorgeous, jawline strong with just a bit of stubble complimenting his handsome face nicely, beautiful brown eyes looked down at him and the smile across the stranger’s face was enough to make his heart skip a beat. And not only that, but this man had the most peculiar shade of pink hair. “Sorry, that was rude of me,” the gorgeous man said, voice deep and smooth and sent shivers down his spine. “Are you alright?” 

 

He did nothing but stare, mouth agape slightly and his voice catching in his throat as he tried finding something to say. “Y-yeah, I’m fine,” he assured, voice shaky and a deep blush taking over his face. “I should have been looking where I was going.” 

“It’s alright, no worries,” Mr. Handsome smiled, reaching a hand out to Jack, a patient smile as he waited for the flustered Irishman to take it. “This is the part where you take my hand unless you wanna sit on the ground, that’s cool too.” 

Snorting, he reached a hand out and took his hand, pulling himself off the ground and standing. It was hard not to miss the feel of his calloused hand, the way his fingertips were rough and calloused yet his palms smooth and soft. Still blushing slightly, he muttered a thank you and began to wipe the bit of dirt on his pants away. 

“So your name’s Jack?” he asked, making him back up and watched as he began reading one of the flyers that had fallen out of his hands. “Why does it say Jack and Sean?”

“It’s a nickname- Jack is I mean. Sean’s my real name but everyone calls me Jack.” 

Nodding, Mr. Handsome just kept skimming his eyes over the paper before a wide smile crossed his face. “You’re a drummer? Oh man, that’s so cool!” 

Feeling sheepish, Jack chuckled and blushed a bit more, hoping it was only him that could hear the pounding of his heart in his chest at the compliments. “Yeah, I’ve been drumming for a while now. I did lessons at my old town in Dublin but I moved here to try and maybe get a new start and all that cliche stuff.” 

“Dublin?” he raised a brow, a look of curiosity evident at the way his brown eyes were now trained on him looking him over and it made Jack feel like his knees were weak. “I get the accent, but Dublin Ireland is a long ways away from here. I’m sure there’d be better places to go than here. There’s nothing really here.” 

 

‘There’s you,’ he almost blurted, instead clearing his throat and shrugging. “There’s lots of musicians here. This place is open to all sorts of people, all sorts of ideas, if I wanna start anywhere I’d wanna start here. It feels like home already anyways.” 

The smile never left the other man’s lips as he listened to Jack, only nodding before reaching into his coat pocket to pull out a small card. “Here,” handing it to Jack, he looked at the other man then at his tacky bright pink business card. 

“Mark Fishbach,” he mumbled softly, looking back up at him quickly. What a goddamn name. He certainly left a mark. Reading over the bolded print, his eyes suddenly widened and he looked back up with a look of excitement. “You’re a violinist?” 

Laughing, Mark nodded, his smile so wide it made the corners of his eyes crinkle making Jack’s heart pound harder against his chest. “I do lessons as well. I used to live in Cincinnati Ohio, but I wanted to do the same thing as you. Find a real place to belong.” 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he squirmed a bit holding the card tightly in his hands. “That’s cool. Nice to meet you Mark.” 

“And you Jack,” he smiled before he pursed his lips together and dug around his pockets again. “Can I have the card again? These are really new so I didn’t add something important.” 

Handing the card back, he watched Mark pull out a pen and then scribble on the back of the pink card, looking quite concentrated before looking back up at Jack who swore he saw the slightest flush across his cheeks. “Here, just had to write something for you. Maybe I’ll see you around though? Just watch where you’re going.” Smiling, he patted Jack on the shoulder before walking past him. 

Staring dumbfounded, he almost asked how he’d see him again but looking at his card he realized Mark had written in large numbers his phone number and in small font the words ‘Call me, we’d make beautiful music together,’ was written. If his blush was somewhat concealed before, he knew it wasn’t anymore as he whined softly and covered his face with his hands. “Thank fucking god for the drums!”


End file.
